CIHM 

Microfiche 

Series 

(IMonographs) 


ICMH 

Collection  de 

microfiches 

(monographies) 


Canadian  institute  for  Historical  Microraproductions  /  institut  Canadian  da  microroproductions  historiquas 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes  /  Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


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int4rieure. 

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pMsftjie.  ces  pages  n'cnt  pas  M  filmies. 

□ Additional  comments  / 
Cmnmentalres  suppMmenlalrcs: 


L'institut  a  microfilmi  la  mailleur  exemplaire  qu'M  M  a 
i\i  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details  de  cet  exem- 
plaire qui  son!  peut-ilre  unk)ues  du  point  de  vue  bibli- 
ograpMque,  qui  peuvtnt  modifier  une  inwga  reprodiAa, 
ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une  modification  dans  ta  mMio> 
de  normale  de  filmage  sont  indiqu^s  ci-dessoi». 

I    j  Cdourad pages /Pages da coUeur 

I    I  ftges damaged/ Pages endommag^ 

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Pages  restaur^ea  elAou  pelRcutfea 


Pages  discotoured,  stained  or  foxed  / 
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obtenir  ia  meilleure  image  possiUe. 

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discotourations  are  filmed  twice  to  ensure  the  best 
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fiim^es  deux  fois  afin  d'obtenir  la  meilleure  image 
p(»sa}le. 


This  Htm  Is  (ilmtd  at  iht  rtducilen  ratio  chtcktd  btlew  / 

C«  decumtnt  Mt  fifrni  su  iaus  da  rMuctien  indiqiM  ei>dttS0ut. 


lOx 


14x 


18x 


12x 


16x 


ZI 

20x 


22X 


26x 


30x 


24x 


28x 


32x 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 


L'  exemplaire  iWmi  fut  reproduit  grftce  k  ia 
gin^rositd  de: 


ItotlflMi  Library  pf  CMMda 


MfcHottiiqiw  mtloMl*  du 


This  title  was  microfilmed  with  the  generous 
permission  of  the  rights  holder: 

tevfd  H.  Strlngtr 


Ce  titre  a  6\6  microfilm^  avee  i'aimable  autorisatlon 
du  d^tenteur  des  droits: 

Oavid  H.  StHngmr 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility  of 
the  original  copy  and  in  Iceeping  with  the  filming 
contract  specifications. 

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beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on  the 
last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impression,  or 
the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All  other  original 
copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the  first  page  with  a 
printed  or  illustrated  impression,  and  ending  on  the 
last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche  shall 
contain  the  symbol  -^(meaning  "CONTINUED"),  or 
the  symbol  ▼  (meaning  "END"),  whichever  applies. 

Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed  begin- 
ning in  the  upper  left  hand  comer,  left  to  right  and 
top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as  required.  The 
following  diagrams  illustrate  the  method: 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  6\6  reproduces  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin.  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et  de 
la  nettat^  de  I'exemplaire  filmd.  et  en  confomnitA 
avec  las  conditions  du  contrat  de  f  ilmaga. 

Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprim^e  sont  film^s  en  commen9ant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
demidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte  d'im- 
pression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second  plat, 
selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires  origin- 
aux sont  film^s  en  commen^ant  par  la  premiere 
page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte  d'impression  ou 
d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par  la  dernidre  page 
qui  comporte  une  telle  empreinte. 

Un  des  symboies  suivants  apparattra  sur  la 
demi^re  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le  cas: 
le  symbole  -»  signifie  "A  SUIVRE".  le  symbole  ▼ 
signifie  "FIN". 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  6tre 
film^s  k  des  taux  de  reduction  diff^rents.  Lorsque 
le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  6tre  reproduit  en 
un  seul  cliche,  il  est  film^  k  partir  de  Tangle 
sup^rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  k  droite,  et  de  haut 
en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre  d  'images 
n^cessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants  iliustrent  la 
m^thode. 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

MUCROCOrY  RiSOlUTION  TEST  CHART 

(ANSI  ond  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


A 


d   /1PPLIED  IN/MGE  Inc 


1653  East  Moin  Str««l 

Rochester.  New  York      1*609  USA 

(716)  462  -  0300  -  Phoo* 

(716)  288  -  MSa  -  Fa 


IRISH  POEMS 

By 

Arihur  Stringer 


New  Tori 
Ikfitchell  Kennerley 
1911 


1 ' 


257221  ' 


'-•-r   '    '^y-,V  iC^      •      Copyright  igi I 

!d  I  rsy//^^         ^^^^  i:«i«ri^ 


7-       ^  i9u  (X 

Esst  Twtutyfturth  Strett 


CONTENTS 


The  Pipe  Player  9 

In  THE  Tropics  ii 

ClOIDNA  OP  THE  ItUI  1 6 

Spring  in  the  Cinr  i8 

The  Half-Door  ao 

I'll  Niver  Go  Home  Again  22 

Nora  24 

Caoch  O'Lynn  26 

Stormy  Eily  28 

Childer'  30 

The  Meeting  32 

Good  Man  34 

LE  35 

Memories  36 

At  the  Wharf  End  38 

The  Randyvoo  39 

The  Kelt  a  Dreamer  It  41 

MacGiLLIGAN's  GlOVB  42 

The  Man  op  Means  44 

Rivals  45 


Contents 


TrI  BLATRUIKm  4' 

Whistlin*  Danmib  41 

Soft  Ways  4, 

OuLD  Doctor  Ma'Ginn  5 
The  Philanderer 

The  People  of  Dreams  55 

Man  to  Man  56 
Messages 

The  Thrushes  59 

O'Hara  the  Bird-Man  60 

The  Comether  5i 

The  Throuble  52 

The  Snowbird  53 

SOVPLB  TbUNCB  64 

The  Sistbxhood  65 

The  Way  Wid  SnnaN'  67 

Mother  Ireland  68 

Lost  Songs  69 
Wimmen  Folk 

The  Throublin'  Things  jj 

The  Ould  World's  Way  7a 

The  Seekers  73 

Possession  74 

Noreen  of  Ballybrsb  75 

The  Pride  of  Erin  77 

Wimmen  80 


ConHnts 


rAGS 

THiSniNt  8i 

The  DncovBBT  83 

The  Dancing  Days  85 

By  the  Sea  Wall  87 

The  Evening  Up  89 

The  Wise  Man  91 

The  End  93 

The  Old  Mbk  94 

The  MoRNm't  Mokmin'  96 

The  Old  Hound  98 

Says  Old  Doctor  Ma'Ginn  100 

The  Fo'castle  Sage  iqi 

The  Wearing  OF  THE  Green  103 

MoiSTY  Weather  104 

WiNOi  105 

The  Wife  107 

Barnby  Cbugam  1 10 


AFOBEWORD 


T  T  will  be  obvious  to  eren  the  more  ctniftl 
^  readek  of  this  volume  that  the  three-tcore 
dnunatic  lyrict  between  iu  coven  are  not  the 
otteraaee  of  one  partkalir  iadhrklML  To  the 
more  crkictl  reader  it  wit  bt  •q/mSf  obvioM 
that  the  diakct  I  have  made  use  of  b  not  the 
dialect  of  one  particular  Irish  county.  The 
entire  volume,  I  might  venture  to  tay,  ii  de- 
signed more  as  a  small  gallery  of  small  por* 
traits,  or  to  be  more  exact,  as  a  record  of 
ietting  imprenioM  caught  from  the  West  of 
IreitBd  Aaractcr  as  oiita  in  wtaii 
edly,  as  in  the  midst  of  its  native  kkk 

There  is  "sorra"  need  for  me  hf  re  to  i  tell 
on  either  the  loveableness  or  the  humorous  ir- 
responsibility of  this  character,  ?ither  the 
whimsical  gayeties  or  the  '  ^stalgic  moumful- 
BCii  of  these  people  who  were,  and  are,  partly 
my  own  people.  Botinmy  atteoqMtd  racountal 
of  thtac  impwiiioiii  I  must  confess  to  a  certain 
compromise.  I  have  again  and  again,  in  the 
matter  of  tiie  written  word,  bem  cotfOfd  ioio 


5 


Foreword 


something  not  unlike  a  sacrifice  of  actuality  on 
the  alter  of  literary  convention.  This  has  been 
due,  not  to  modi  to  the  consdootnen  diat  a 
"foreignizecl"  and  laboriously  adiieyed  spdl- 
ing  is  as  exasperating  to  the  eye  as  it  is  ex- 
hausting to  the  mind,  but  more  to  the  fact  that 
the  dialect  of  one  Irish  county  or  countryside  is, 
more  Hibernico,  usually  a  contradiction  of  the 
dialect  of  its  neighboring  county  or  countryside. 
And  further,  what  it  commonly  spoken  of  as 
the  Indmian*s  "brogue,"  it  must  be  confessed, 
is  a  speech  or  method  of  speech  mu^  too 
elusive  to  be  captured  and  tied  down  to  an  ink- 
pot.   The  imitation  brogue,  the  near-brogue, 
the  brogue  which  "belaves"  a  "Quane"  might 
"swape"  a  flock  of  forty  "shape"  inside  of  a 
'SrakeV*  time,  is  a  creation  peculiar  to  the 
vaudeville-boardt  and  the  joke^nonger's  col- 
unm.  It  is  a  speech  that  it  about  at  common 
in  Connaught  and  her  sister  counties  as  snakes 
are  in  Ireland.    Even  the  broadening  of  the 
diphthong  "ea"  into  the  long  "a"  is  too  prone 
to  exaggeration.  Yet  there  are  tricks  of  speech 
to  diaracterittic  and  so  persistent  they  cannot 
be  ignored.  One,  for  instance,  it  the  flattening 
of  the  dental  digraph  "th"  into  tomething  ap- 
proadunga'U"  To  write  it  down  always  at  a 

6 


Foreword 


*'d"  is  a  somewhat  clumsy  artifice.  It  remains, 
however,  the  only  adequate  device  for  the  ex- 
pression of  that  quaintly  hardening  tendency 
which  trtmlatet  *Srith*'  imo  something  to 
closely  akin  to  *Vid.**  Still  another  practice  it 
the  lowering,  the  "de-dentalating,"  of  the  sibil- 
lant,  readily  recognized  in  the  "smile"  which 
becomes  "shmile"  and  the  "street"  which  must 
be  recorded  as  "shtreet,"  though  here  again  the 
inserted  "h"  is  a  somewhat  awkward  instrument 
to  denote  that  temiout  rustle  of  breath  with 
whidi  Erin  waftt  out  itt  hissing  conicmant  In 
the  same  way,  the  tendency  to  es^rett  the  soft- 
ened "of"  by  "av"  may  not  always  be  entirely 
satisfying;  yet,  when  it  comes  to  a  matter  of 
ink  and  paper,  the  resort  to  it  seems  the  only 
reasonable  avenue  out  of  the  difficulty.  And 
beyond  this  there  are  many  more  difficulties,  dif- 
ficulties of  idtom,  and  of  mental  attitude.  And 
as  an  excuse  for  a  newcomer's  ivraston  of  that 
land  of  bn^es  and  accents  and  intonations, 
which  are  as  elusive  as  quicksilver  even  while 
they  are  as  penetrating  as  turf-smoke  and  as 
soft  as  a  bog-land  breeze,  I  can  only  add  that  it 
is  a  field  in  which  there  are  many  anomalies  and 
no  finalities. 

A.  & 

7 


.1  \ 


IRISH  POEMS 


piPER-MAN,  Piper-Mam, 
•* PuttitC  into  Song 
Love  and  tears  that  make  us  tur 
As  we  pass  along! 

Piper-Man,  Piper-Man, 

ff^ here's  your  sense  av  shame, 
P'radin'  wid  unholy  noise 

Things  we^d  mvtr  namef 

Piper-Man,  Piper-Man, 
fFhin  the  tears  are  told, 

fFhat  have  ye  /*  take  the  place 
Av  iha  things  ye'va  soUf 

9 


THE  PIPE  PLAYER 


Irish  Poems 


But  Piper-Man,  Piper-Msn, 

Is  it,  faith,  a  loss, 
Passin'  us  your  brohen  dreams 

Whin  your  palm  toe  cross? 
Givin*  us  your  achin'  heart 

For  the  gold  we  tosst 


lO 


Artimr  8tri»§tr 


IN  THE  TROPICS 


{O  to  be  in  Ireland  ivid  me  youth  sgaiM, 
Half  a  world  from  palm-tkreg,  kidf  0  worU 

from  this! 
O  to  be  in  Ireland,  where  the  coolir^  rain 
Patts  across  the  green  lulls  Uke  a  womanfs 


T  T  P  and  down  the  withered  turf 

Here  I  pace  the  ould  Psrtde, 
Listenin*  to  the  Tropic  surf 
Where  the  Band-stand  music  brayed. 

Here  die  gintry  go  and  come, 
Shlow  beneath  t  nii&>white  moon 

Round  as  yonder  ketde<iram 
Throbbifi*      its  homesick  toon. 

Round  and  round  they  drift  and  pass, 
Thro'  the  palms  they  wheel  and  roam, 

Where  the  Regimintal  Brass 

Plays  it*  wishtful  songs  av  Home. 

II 


Idss/) 


Irish  Ppgmt 


Shlow  and  stately  as  the  dead, 
On  they  move  from  light  to  light, 

Soljer-meii  in  ^arin*  red, 
Ltdiet  in  their  g^oMly  white. 

Long  I've  watched  thim  as  they  pass 
Where  the  sea-wall  shmells  av  musk 

And  the  pahn-frondt  green  as  brass 
Whi^r  thro*  the  Thrade^wept  dusk. 

Long  I've  marked  thim  come  and  go 
Where  the  swayin'  lantherns  shine, 

Where  the  white  electhrict  ^ow, 
Where  the  Bandttand  comets  whine; 

Where  the  trombones  pulse  and  blare 
Wid  some  shlow  and  stately  toon. 

Where  the  sea-wmd  shtirs  the  air 
And  the  coral  beaches  citoon. 

Long  I've  watched  thim  here  alone. 
Till  the  paJms  and  music  seem 

Ghosts  av  things  IVe  scarcely  known, 
Ghost?  that  thrail  across  a  dream; 

And  the  soft  and  shleepy  Cross, 
Shinin'  from  its  shleepy  dome, 

Seems  to  tdl  thim  av  their  loss, 
Half  a  world  away  from  Home. 

II 


But  I've  left  no  Home  behind, 
And  there's  naught  beyont  the  Sea, 

Naught  av  kith  nor  wimmen-kind 
Waitin'  for  the  likes  av  me. 

Yet  I  listen,  wid  the  ache 
Av  a  man  who'*  known  his  dead» 

While  the  ould  toons  iltttr  and  wake 
Things  IVe  pot  beyont  me  liead. 

And  I  watch  thim  wid  a  blur 

Creepin'  thro'  the  ould  Parade, 
Where  the  diff-pahns  wake  and  shtir 

In  the  soft  and  sultry  Thnule. 

{O  to  be  in  Ireland  where  the  cool  rain  falls, 
Where  the  melAi^  green  shhpes  meet  ike  ten- 
der light, 

Where  across  the  wkm  Oe  Ummty  owUt  calls. 
Where  the  settUti  grome^erom  tettt  ao  comii 
mgkt/) 

Life  I've  lived,  and  Youth  Pv©  had, 

Yet  no  home  is  home  to  me : 
Faith,  I've  loved  it,  good  and  bad, 
Lane  and  city,  land  and  seal 

13 


Irish  Poems 

But  I  •duU  mutt  take  me  wty 
To  the  ends  my  all  the  earth, 

Fine  mc  port,  and  drain  me  day, 
Adun'  what  the  game  it  worth. 

So  I  watch  the  gintry  walk, 
Hcart-sick  wimmcn  white  at  loam, 

Heat-sick  faces  white  as  chalk, 
Half  a  world  away  from  Home. 

And  I  haik  the  tad  ould  croon 

Av  the  swingin*  Tropic  Sea, 
Till  the  palm  and  Cross  and  moon 

Seem  but  ghottt  av  thinga  to  me. 

And  I  wander  thro*  a  dream, 

And  the  men  I  walk  betide 
Nothin'  more  than  spirits  seem— 

And  I  know,  me  youth  hat  dtedl 

—Died  and  went  dut  many  a  year 

With  a  gcrrl  they  buried  deep 
Where  the  hawthorn's  growin'  near 

And  the  coolin'  lough-windt  creep! 

O  to  be  in  Ireland  where  that  blue  lough  lies/ 
O  to  hear  the  homelike  cUf  0V  pigeons  mW 
U  to  see  the  bog-lands  gree*  the  nornin'  skies/ 
U  to  be  tn  Ireland,  waiting  for  the  Spring/ 

14 


Arthur  Strimgfr 


Bui  I'll  tnver  more  be  seein'  my  ould  Home, 
Nher  W  Ihe  ouU  voice  callite  thro'  the  rain, 
Nkfer  tge  the  HeMdUnds  fashiie  wid  their 
fo4m, 

And  mftrwmwu  lost  ymtth  btek  to  m  €§dHl 


15 


Irish  Pogm 


CLOIDNA  OF  THE  ISLE 

Y  HAD  me  bit  tr  Iwif4aiid  oOHii*  for  tlie 
scythe, 

When  who  should  hurry  hUlward,  wiihtful- 

loike  and  blithe, 
But  Cloidna  tv  the  Itle,  that  gerrl  av  pink  an' 

white, 

Wid  eyes  av  Irish  blue  an'  hair  as  black  at 

i^j^t   •   •  • 
I  had  me  hay  to  mow  an'  gather  into  rick. 
But  when  ye  talk  wid  handsome  gerils,  och, 

time  goes  qukkl 

"Aroo,"  says  she  to  me,  wid  her  slow  an  mddn* 

shmile, 

"I'm  lookin"  for  a  man,  dus  many  an'  many  a 
milel 

"Me  hay's  all  ripe,"  says  she;  *Vhativer  will 
Ido 

Widittt  a  bit  av  help?"   .   .   .   Bcdad,  her 
eye  wasbluel 

1$ 


Artkmr  Strinftr 


Och,  what's  the  use  wf  mcSM  ciU  yovr  lile*t 

all  done  I 

An'  that's  a  rick  or  two,  beside  a  bit  av  fun! 
I  swung  me  singin'  sqrthe  thro'  Cloidna's  fields 
o*  hay, 

An'  wid  it  swung  me  iingm*  hetrt  etcb  Ihreioag 
day, 

An'  on  me,  iv'ry  swath,  she  shmiled  wid  tender 

eyes    .    .  . 
Faith,  when  you're  wid  a  handsomg  woman, 
how  time  /lies/ 


17 


ifUk  Poem 


SPRING  IN  THE  CITY 


HERE'S  a  lad  seUin'  bird-whittles  made 

out  av  lead; 


There's  a  Greek  boy  wid  vilet-dumps  big  at 
your  head  I 

There*t  a  promiie  vr  buds  on  the  patient  onld 
trees; 

There's  a  whisper  av  Spring  in  tke  thmoke- 

laden  breeze  I 
There's  a  haze  on  the  houi>e-topt,  a  croon  in  tbe 

air; 

There's  a  h;  id-organ  throbbin'  dirough  Madi- 
son Square ; 

And  the  childer*  are  dandn*  on  cobble  and  lag, 
And  the  Avenoo*a  thrilled  wid  the  horn  from 
adragi 

There's  a  wee  tparrow  chirpin'  at  glad  at  a 

lark, 

And  daffodils  show  in  the  beds  av  the  Park, 

i8 


Arikmr  Sirmgtr 


And  the  gerrU  have  such  potiet  and  pinkt  on 
riifjf  haadi 

Ye*d  be  diMnia*  tiMir  halt  wart  all  Iqriciatii- 
bedtl 

There's  a  mniUe  av  wheak  and  the  roar  ar  a 

car, 

And  the  patther  av  hoofs,  and  the  odor  of  tarl 
And  the  riveters,  high  on  yon  sky-scraper  sills, 
Are  all  rappin*  and  tappin*  like  wood-pecker 
bOk; 

And  there's  home-wiiidyi  open  and  doora  ilaiii- 

min'  shut, 

And  there's  clatther  and  dust,  and  the  Divil 
knows  what  1 

But  in  faith  I  would  give  it,  the  firat  and  the 
last, 

For  wan  gUmpie  av  the  onld  Springa  ovor  and 
past. 

For  the  call  av  the  cuckoo,  the  peewit's  ould 

cry, 

And  the  purple  av  moorlands  against  the  ould 
sky, 

And  the  lough,  and  the  heather,  and  the  vafleya 

av  green, 

And  the  old  •hleq;>y  hilUown  without  a 
traneenl 

«9 


Irish  Poems 


THE  HALF-DOOR 

I^HAT  whin-bred  gerrl  in  heat  or  cold 

Would  iver  leave  the  door  swung  indc, 
Faith,  wide  as  in  her  home  av  old 
Where  hares  wanst  played  and  peewits  cried. 

"Ye'  re  in  a  throublin'  city  now, 

And  och,  it  seems  the  city's  way 
To  steal  and  pilfer,  Gawd  knows  how," 

They  told  her  twinty  times  a  day. 

"Faith,  I  could  niver  ate  nor  sleep 

Widout  a  bit  av  sun,"  says  she; 
"For  sure  at  home  we  used  to  kttp 

The  half-door  wide  as  wide  could  be.** 

That  whin-bred  gerrl,  as  gerris  have  done, 
Full  wide  and  open  kept  her  door, 

And  thought  to  find  her  bit  av  sun 
As  home-sick  gerris  have  thried  before. 


20 


Jrtkur  Siringtr 


And  faith,  there  soon  went  thraipiin'  thro', 

Widout  a  sash  or  bar  to  part, 
A  city  lad  wid  eyes  av  blue, 

Who  left  a  gerrl  wid  tchia*  heart 

Ay,  left  a  girleen  av  the  moon 
Shut  in  widout  her  thrace  av  sua, 

And  wandered  on  to  other  doors 
As  other  laughin'  lads  have  done. 

"At  home,"  she  sobbed,  "there'i  htlf-doon  in 
Each  ungiii*  hemrt  and  cottage  watt— 

But  m  the  town  wid  all  its  sin 
Ye  can't  be  free  at  aU,  at  aUr* 


SI 


Irish  Potm 


I'LL  NIVER  GO  HOME  AGAIN 

I'll  niver  go  home  again, 
Home  to  the  ould  sad  hills, 
Home  through  the  ould  soft  rain, 
Inhere  the  curlew  calls  and  thrills! 

POR  I  thought  to  find  the  ould  wee  house, 

Wid  the  moss  along  the  wall  1 
And  I  thought  to  hear  the  crackle-grouse, 
Andlbe  brae-lnrds  calll 

And  I  sez,  I'll  find  the  glad  wee  bom, 

And  the  bracken  in  the  glen, 
And  the  fairy-thorn  beyont  the  torn, 
And  the  same  ould  men! 

But  the  ways  I'd  loved  and  walked,  avick, 

Were  no  more  home  to  me, 
Wid  their  sthreets  and  turns  av  starin'  brick, 

And  no  cold  face  to  tee  I 


32 


'Arthur  Strm^gr 


And  the  ould  glad  ways  I'd  helt  in  mind, 
Loike  the  home  av  Moira  Bawn, 

And  the  ould  green  turns  Fd  dreamt  to  find, 
They  all  were  lost  and  gone  I 

And  die  vrbatt  shebem  httidt  die  leap 
Where  the  racin'  watlien  swirled 

And  the  bumin'  kelp-shmoke  used  to  creep 
'Tis  now  aiu^er  world! 

And  all  th*  ampled  out  long  years  ago 

By  feet  I've  niver  seen 
Are  die  failry-rings  that  used  to  Aow 

Alrn^  die  low  boreoi! 

And  the  bairns  that  romped  by  Tullagh  Bum 
Whin  they  saw  me  sthopped  their  play — 

Through  a  mist  av  tears  I  tried  to  turn 
And  ghost-like  creep  away  I 

And  PU  mwr  §o  home  a§mnt 
Home  to  the  ould  lost  yemn, 
Home  where  the  soft  warm  rain 
Drifts  loike  the  drip  av  tearsi 


23 


Irish  Poems 


NORA 

\I^HY  is  it,  now,  me  Nora 

Will  nivcr  shpeak  av  Hugh? 
Will  niver  pass  a  joke  wid  him 
The  way  the  iiwd  to  do? 

Toime  wtt  that  gerri*d  blather 

Av  Hughic,  noon  and  night! 
Now  iv'ry  time  he  swings  the  gate 
Her  face  goes  sUrin'  white  I 

I've  spied  no  row  nor  ruction; 

They  meet  as  friend  wid  friend; 
And  still,  I'm  toldt,  he  walks  with  her 

Beyondt  the  boreen's  end. 

Fve  done  me  best  by  Nora; 

That  gerri*s  at  throe  as  day, 
Wid  all  her  big  and  wishtful  eyes, 

Wid  all  her  bashful  wayt 


ArthuTf  Stringer 


But  white  before  me  turf-fire 

She  sits  widout  a  word, 
This  gerrl  av  mine  who  used  to  sing 

At  mtd  u  any  bird  I 

Faith,  since  the  lott  her  mother, 

IVe  left  that  colleen  free 
To  come  and  go— but  times  there  are 

When  men  are  tlow  to  teel 

For  wanst  I  spied  her  rockin' 

And  sobbin,  here,  alone — 
Now,  can  there  be  some  throuble  up 

Her  mutker  might  *ve  known? 


Irish  Poems 


CAOCH  O'LYNN 

/^CH,  here  I  am  wid  arms  and  legs, 
^      Wid  all  me  thravellin's  far  from  home  I 
Wid  all  me  curlin'  seas  to  cross 
And  all  me  damorin'  world  to  roam  1 

Wid  all  me  jiggin',  port  to  port, 
Caroutin',  rovin',  round  die  etith — 

But  wantt  the  thing's  been  said  and  done, 
Whftt*s  an  me  mad  tdirenturin*  worth? 

For  here  lies  little  Caoch  O'Lymi, 
Who's  nivcr  fared  from  bed  nor  hrnne; 

Wid  crooked  leg  and  twisted  spine, 
As  chirpy  as  a  grackle-grouse  I 

He  tells  me  av  the  thrips  he  takes; 

The  landin'-parties  wanst  he  led. 
The  foreign  ports  so  spiced  and  fine, 

Betwixt  the  wgmdim  av  hb  beiil 

26 


Arthur  Stringer 


He  tells  me  av  the  secret  thrail 
That  leads  to  some  ould  Castle  stair 

Where  thleeps  a  Princett  sad  tad  pale 
Wid  half  a  mile  vw  golden  hair  I 

He  tells  me  av  Tangier  and  Fez, 

Av  Cartagena,  Suakim, 
And  all  the  flashin,  lashin*  seas 

That  Iver  wait  and  wave  for  him  1 

From  Chiny  romd  to  %>aiiidi  Main 
He  sings  and  thravels — in  his  mind— 

A  King  of  Dreams  who's  clean  forgot 
The  crooked  back  k/s  Uft  bekimii 


•7 


Irish  Poems 


STORMY  EILY 

{SmdKUdree  Tim:  "There's  mver  words 

Betwixt  me  wife  tai  met 
Aroo,  we  live  hike  matii^  birds, 

Widout  a  peck/"  says  he; 
^^Aye,  niver  a  row  or  ruction,  lad, 
Me  mild-shpoke  mate  aii  I've  wanst  kadi") 

QINCE  fint  I've  lored  me  Eily 
^  We've  wrangled,  walked  away, 
An'  fought  an'  kitted  an'  fallen  out 
An'  ttonned  be  i^ht  an'  day! 

Faith,  since  I've  first  loved  Eily, 

On  throubled  seas  I've  swung  I 
That  woman't  two-thirds  made  av  fire, 

An'  wan-third  made  av  tongue  I 

But  then  she  ends  in  weepin', 

An'  sobbin'  I'm  to  blame — 
('Tis  th'  fire  that  makes  wan  quick  to  fight 

Drives  wan  to  love  the  samel) 

28 


Arthur  Stringer 


For  mtti  Mt  wrtppti  m€,  skmM 
Like  the  Lwtit  owm  sky  show, 

In  the  softest,  warmest,  maddest 
That  wer  sehad  wid  loval 


29 


Irish  Poems 


CHILDER' 

^HEY* RE  loagiii*  for  «  wee  Ud 
^     Up  in  TViIUgh  Hall— 
Where  niver  wanst  a  cradle  wti| 
An*  niver  child  at  alll 

They're  shpeakin'  all  in  whispers, 
They're  threadin*  on  their  toes, 

An'  tin-and-twinty  sewin'-gerrlt 
la  dirimmin*  satin  clothes  I 

A  deal  av  fuss  an*' feathers 

Gintry  makes,  aroo, 
Wid  all  dieir  frightened  wimmea-folk 

When  wan  to  wan  is  two! 

They've  twinty-hundred  acres 

Hid  be  jealous  wall — 
Yet  niver  throd  a  little  foot 

Thro'  lonely  TuUagh  HaUI 
30 


 jirthttr  Stringtr 

But  here  biiUMtk  ll#  oald  Ikstdk 

Childef'  come  so  fast, 
In  faith,  we  put  the  first  f  bed 
For  room  to  roek  tha  Uttt 


31 


IrUh  Pomt 


THE  MEETING 

T'D  niver  teen  the  ftce  av  her; 

And  she  knew  naug^it  av  me. 
She'd  fared  that  day  from  Shela  Hills, 
And  I'd  swung  in  from  sea. 

It  may  have  been  the  warm,  soft  nig^t, 
The  soft  and  moitherin'  moon  I 

It  may  have  been  the  loody  itreett 
Aad  file  oald  tea't  lonely  dnmel 

« 

It  may  have  all  bcea  doomed,  in  faith. 

For  many  an*  many  a  year, 
That  soft  and  mad  and  wishtful  night 
Without  a  laugh  or  tear  I 

She  belt  me  face  betwixt  her  hands 

And  out  av  wishtful  eyes 
For  long  she  watched  me  sunburnt  face 

Wid  wonder  and  nrprise. 

3* 


 Jriktr  Stringer 

For  long  against  her  quiet  breaat 
She  helt  me  throubled  head; 

And  when  I  kittt  her  shmilin'  mouth, 
"Ye'U  ne'er  come  backl"  she  said. 

And  out  the  fared  r-^  Shela  Hillt, 
And  I  twiing  ba'  'oaea: 

Btit  och,  the  ache  ad  kmeUncit 
That  was  aiglit  left  wid  mel 


35 


Irish  Poems 


THE  GOOD  MAN 


1VTACKILLRAY  was  a  dour  man, 

Workin*  night  and  day, 
Thryin'  to  build  a  grand  house, 
And  f retJn'  life  away. 


When  he'd  built  his  fine  house, 
High  beyont  the  furze. 

Not  a  gerrl  in  Kindree 
Sotti^t  to  make  it  heral 


II 

Larry  was  a  young'  de*il, 

Idlin'  youth  away, 
A-pipin*  and  philanderin* 

And  laugfain'  all  the  day. 

Niver  was  a  colleen 

Trod  the  Kindree  sod 
But  homeless  would  hmte  fmrei  forA 

At  homeless  Lafrfs  nodi 

34 


Jrtkmr  Stringer 


EXILE 

¥N  the  dead  av  the  night,  acushia, 
When  the  new  big  house  is  still, 
I  think  av  the  childcr'  thick  as  hares 
In  the  ould  house  under  the  hill  I 

And  I  think  tv  the  times,  alanna, 
That  we  haikened  the  peewit's  cry, 

And  how  we  ran  to  the  broken  gate 
When  the  piper  ay  Doon  went  by  I 

In  the  dead  of  the  year,  acushia, 
When  me  wide  new  fields  are  brown, 

I  think  av  that  wee  ould  house. 
At  the  edge  av  the  ould  gray  town! 

I  think  av  the  rush-lit  faces. 

Where  the  room  and  loaf  was  small: 
Ytt  tkg  lum  fears  seem  the  lean  years, 

And  the  onU  years,  best  en  all/ 

35 


Irish  Poems 


MEMORIES 


F  my  ould  loves,  of  their  ould  ways, 


I  sit  an'  think,  these  bitther  days. 

(I've  kissed — 'gainst  rason  an'  'gainst  rhyme- 
More  mouths  than  one  in  my  mad  time  I) 

Of  their  toft  ways  and  words  I  dream, 
But  far  off  now,  in  faith,  they  teem. 

Wid  betther  lives,  wid  bettiber  men, 
They've  all  long  taken  up  again  I 

For  me  an*  mine  they're  past  an'  done- 
Aye,  all  but  one — ^yet,  all  but  one  I 

Since  I  kissed  her  'neath  TuUagh  Hill 
That  one  gerrl  stayt  dote  wid  me  ttilL 

Och  I  up  to  mine  her  face  ttUl  lifts, 

And  round  us  still  the  wiute  May  drifts; 


56 


Arthur  Stringer 


And  her  soft  arm,  in  some  ould  way. 
Is  here  beside  me,  night  an'  day; 

But,  faith,  *tw»8  her  they  baried  deep, 
Wid  aU  that  lore  the  couldn't  keep. 

Aye,  deep  an'  cold,  in  Killinkere, 
This  many  a  year — this  many  a  yearl 


37 


Irish  Poems 


AT  THE  WHARF  ENp 

*LL  weep  it  out,  ind  sleep  it  out^ 
Faith,  forget  me  in  s  day  I 
Ye*ll  talk  it  out,  and  walk  it  mrt— 
Yit,  I'll  be  long  away! 

But  what  a  heavin'  shoulder  this 

To  rock  a  lad  to  sleep  I 
Och,  me  gerrl,  that  one  kiss, 

Ye  knew  it  couldn't  keep  I 

Some  cry  it  out,  and  sigh  it  out, 

But  we^U  forgit  the  ache! 
Ye'U  laugh  it  off,  and  chaff  it  off. 

And  leani  to  give  and  take! 

And  that's  the  gray  ship  wakin*  ra^ 

Sure,  what's  the  good  o'  tear*  I 
It's  got  to  be,  and  ought  to  be — 
One  kiss — for  twinty  years  1 

38 


Arthur  Stringer 


THE  RANDYVOO 


I 


E  see  thim  thrailin'  in  and  out  wid  niver 


At  Fairy-Thorn  or  buddin'  May  that's  scentin' 

many  •  mile; 
I  tee  dum  ttredin*  in  and  oat  wid  tak  torn 

on  their  facci 
For  yon's  the  Acre  vr  tbc  Dead  and  tiioi^fltt  a 

dourish  place, 
Wid  gravestones  thick  at  barley  Cope  and  ycfwi 

fominst  the  wall, 
Where  leverocks  soar  and  sing  so  mad,  and 

matin'  cnckooa  caU. 


And  daik  it  it,  m  faith,  to  thim  who  hold  the 

place  m  dread, 
And  dour  enough  it  tdll  nuy  be  fwt  tUm  iHio 

know  their  dead; 


wanst  a  shmile 


n 


39 


\\\" 

t 


Irish  Poems 


But,  och,  for  me  'tit  still  the  home  av  iv'ry 
singin'  lark 

And  iy*ry  note  and  hawthorn  tcent  that  ttealt 

across  the  dark; 
For  wanst,  where  black  between  the  stones  the 

yew  tree  shadows  hung, 
/  found  and  knew  me  first  love's  kiss,  when  aU 

the  world  was  young. 


40 


Artkmr  StHn$er 


THE  KELT  A  DREAMER  IS 
ID  a  jorum  wanst  under  me  arm,  faith, 


Could  warm  me  almost  as  though  I  had  druidL 
down  the  lot  av  it  I 
Me  mmd  could  half  bum  wid  the  fire  av  b; 
Widout  all  the  sting  and  the  tire  av  it 
I'd  swim  wid  the  dream  and  desire  av  ttl 

When  down  be  ould  Donnievale  Wall  I  sat 

waitin*  and  dreamtn* 
Twan't  her  when  she  came;  *twu  the  wttchin* 

and  Ibngin*  and  teemin*! 

'Tis  love,  says  I,  but  you  tire  av  it; 
'Tis  only  in  dream  the  desire  av  it 
Outstays  both  the  ache  and  the  fire  av  itl 

But  now  that  Fve  watted  and  fived  thioogli  the 
last  avMt, 

Aye,  now  that  it*t  lost,  how  I  dream  av  the 

past  av  it  I 

For  broodin'  av  Death,  and  the  dire  av  it^ 

I'd  now  face  Hell  and  the  fire  av  it, 

For  me  onld  mad  youth  and  the  mire  av  itt 


the  thought  av  it 


Irish  Poems 


MAC  GILLIGAI^'S  GROVE 
CH,  nM  hetrin'  it  f ftilio*  to*  me  ey< 


it  bad; 

And  I  haven't  a  leg  for  the  strattpeyt  I  htd, 
Nor  the  drrl  av  a  bow  that  I  loved  at  a  ladi 

Och,  me  ould  head  now,  ture,  'tit  bald  to  the 

crown, 

An'  I  walk  wid  a  limp,  an'  I  look  wid  a  frown. 
An*  me  ould  b<met  adie  wid  the  yean  they  have 
koowBl 

But  wheniver  I  thrail  be  that  bit  av  a  wood 
Where  the  thiotdet  afc  tiiigia*  at  wantt,  too,  I 

could. 

An'  other  ladt  stand  where  wantt,  too,  I  ttood; 

Wheniver  I  sniff  me  the  buds  on  its  trees, 
Wheniver  the  May-day's  alive  wid  its  bees, 
The  toag  of  itt  laik,  an*  tb'  tmell  av  iu 

bfMBCj 


4» 


I  shtill  see  a  gerrl  an'  a  thlip  av  a  boy, 
(Such  sayin's  an'  doin's,  cometherin',  coy; 
Such  moitherin'  meedn'  an'  achin'  wid  joy)— 

They're  ihoeakin'  the  tame  word  some  other 
lad  Mid; 

They're  draggin*  me  back  thro*  the  yean  that 

are  dead, 

An'  throublin'  an'  modn'  me  empty  ould  headi 

An'  that  shtreel  av  a  blatherskite  niver  is  me, 
Sayt  I  to  meself   .   .   .   then  a  gleek  av  the 
bee 

An'  a  trill  ay  the  laik  an*  a  ihmdl  av  the  tice 


43 


Irish  Poems 


THE  MAN  OF  MEANS 

¥  'VE  got  mc  a  tilloch  av  land; 
*     I  drink  mc  potheen  as  I  may; 
Tin  ten-tndpiix-stone  as  I  stand, 
And  I  thnvei  to  Qeen  in  « thayl 

^Ve  gathered  me  pittance  and  more; 

I've  feathered  me  bit  av  a  nett; 
And  they  call  me  the  f  r'ind  av  the  poor, 

Me,  needin'  aa  much  a*  the  retti 

Fc  Fd  barther  me  last  stone  av  meal, 
if  wanst  through  the  Ballybree  rain 

She'd  waken  and  whisper  and  steal, 
That  ghost  av  dead  Moira  McShanel 

Aye,  the  lee  and  the  long  av  it  stands, 
That  Fd  give  thim  me  meadow  and  bawn. 

And  me  fool  av  a  ahay,  and  me  lamb, 
For  that  wisp  av  a  gerrl  that's  gone! 

44 


Ankmr  Strhtftr 


RIVALS 

1X7 ID  her  thmile  that  is  wishtful  and  sad, 
Wid  her  hand  folded  close  like  a  wing, 
Wid  her  bhie  eyct  to  throvUfid  and  wide, 
She  wwtt  f (» the  letther  I  hniig. 

Wid  a  laugh  and  a  toss  av  the  head 
She  blows  me  a  kiss  from  the  wall; 

But  the  letther  she  holds  to  her  breast. 
And  she's  weepin'  at  nothin'  at  all! 

And  ihe*n  sob  and  •he'fl  brood  on  n  tenfd 
From  this  haUia§e  gone  many  a  year — 

While  she  stabs  me  wid  kisses  and  shmiles, 
But  crowns  me  not  wamt  mi  %  teurl 


49 


Irish  Potm 


THE  TIME  FOR  LOVE 
HEN  the  moon  was  the  tize  av  a  cart- 


" "  wfaed, 

And  aa  iootiMrtii*  aoft  aa  cream; 
When  the  lough  lay  atrangc  wid  the  ii^^itaiiat, 
And  the  down  waa  a  tea  av  drami— 

When  the  voice  av  a  gerrl  was  music, 
And  your  own,  like  a  linnet's  wing, 

Waa  lluttherin'  full  av  the  moonlight 
And  tlia  mad  glad  fire  av  Spring — 

Och,  yon  waa  the  time  for  lovin'» 
Those  moitherin'  bantherin*  years 

When  I  was  a  Billy-Go-Fiater  blade 
And  the  world  waa  young,  me  dears  1 


46 


Jrlkmr  Striii0tr 


THE  BLATHERSKITE 
CH,  never  give  your  wliali  %etft  «p  Iriii 


^       it  from  one  tfait  kiw^il 
The  fint  nuiy  teem  s  toeidie»  Iwt  dM  wwd*t 

like  a  rose, 

And  kissin'  still  is  kiMin',  kd,  f  ...  Aotfim 

down  to  Clare, 
And  the  world  is  full  av  women — so  the  divil 

take  die  care  I 

Aye,  kist  away  tlieir  Inm,      lad,  and  hM 

them  at  a  song; 
The  heart  that's  lovin'  ligbtcit  it  die  heart 

that's  lovin'  long! 
So  leave  the  gerrl  beyont  the  hill,  and  greet  the 

me  abopt — 
Oek,  Mt  h€  Umif  mwmen^  lad,  but  just  thry 


lointf  Lovtl 


47 


Irish  Poems 


WHISTUN'  DANNIE 

p^AITH,  such  a  whistler  was  Dannie, 

A-chirrupin'  all  the  day! 
'Twas  more  like  a  thrush  on  the  holm^de 
A-singin'  its  life  away! 

His  diatch  stood  a  sieve  for  the  wather, 
And  his  belly  went  empty  av  bread; 

But  he  made  his  potheen  out  av  Music, 
And  whittled  his  thronbles  to  bed! 

And  divil  a  man  did  he  care  for, 

And  divil  a  wife  would  be  take, 
And  divil  a  rag  had  he  wanst  to  his  name — 

But  ock^  what «  ekuue  he  could  make! 


4S 


Arthur  Stringer 


SOFT  WAYS 
I 

A  LANNA,  what  a  soft  land  the  Ould  Sod 
med  to  be; 

The  toft  lath  green  o»  hilltidet,  the  toft  en- 

cirdin'  sea ; 

The  still  and  puiple  mcMrlaiidi,  where  the  plov- 
ers call; 

The  soft  and  miity  bog-land,  the  lough  and 

purrin'  fall; 

The  heather  on  the  brake-aide,  the  tleepy  fieldt 
o'  hay; 

The  Fairy-Thom  and  Whin-Both,  the  gold 

Gorse  and  the  May; 
The  low  wall  and  the  roof  thatch,  to  nuld  wid 

moss  and  mold; 
The  soft  cries  av  the  childer',  the  toft  eyes  av 

the  ould; 

And  beat  and  last,  the  Springtime,  aU  muffled 

wid  the  ram: 
But  ntvtr  wunst  thost  soft  wmys  for  «#  mid 

49 


Irish  Poems 


II 

This  new  land  hat  no  toft  wtyt;  *dt  mordal 

hard  and  stern; 
'Tis  work  and  fret  your  way  out,  *tit  moilin' 

iv'ry  turn  I 

Alanna,  all  the  soft  things  the  throubled  city 
sees 

Is  lau^n'  gerris  wid  sof*;  moudit  ttUl  twarm- 

in*  thick  us  bees  I 
And  me  tiiat*s  used  to  ould  ways,  widi  nothin* 
else  to  find, 

I  seek  me  out  a  soft  mouth,  and  leave  the  rest 
behind ; 

I  tedc  die  only  s&ft  thing  their  f retda*  rtrMtt 
can  hold— 

For  women  in  ihe  New  World  «r«  Idnd  ss  m 
the  Otddf 


50 


Arthur  Stringer 


OULD  DOCTOR  MA'GINN 

'T^HE  ould  doctor  had  only  wan  failin', 
*      It  ttftyed  wid  him,  faith,  till  he  died; 
And  that  wu  the  habit  ar  wearin* 
Htt  darby  a  tkrifU  wan  tidel 


And  twenty  times  daily  'twas  straiglttened, 

But  try  as  he  would  for  a  year, 
Not  thinkin',  he'd  give  it  a  teether 
A  thrifle  down  over  wan  earl 

It  sat  him  lop-sided  and  aisy; 

It  throubled  his  kith  and  his  kin — 
But  och,  'twas  the  only  thing  crooked 

About  our  ould  Doctor  Ma'GinnI 


And  now  that  he's  gone  to  his  Glory  

Excuse  me,  a  bit  av  a  tear — 

Her^s  twenty  to  smm  that  his  hah 
Is  slantui'  down  over  his  ear/ 

5« 


Irish  Poems 


THE  PHILANI^BSER 
I 

QCH,  take  a  thmUe  and  gi^e  wan,  and  meet 

a  mouth  and  kiss  wan, 
And  whin  ye're  off  to  furrin  parts  y«Tl  mvtr 

mourn  or  miss  wan  I 
But  the  Divil  take  those  gray  eyes  I  left  beyont 

the  sea  1 

Sthifl,  if  kitsin'  wanst  was  killin' 
We*d  be  dyin'  len  imwtllia*— 
But  I  wonder  if  that  wistful  genl  is  waitin' 
dttreformel 

U 

Aye,  take  your  kite  and  keep  it  and  draw  your 

latch  and  leave  it, 
But  niver  say  the  last  word  or  all  yoor  life  yell 

grieve  it — 

The  gerrl  beyont  the  wather  is  the  geni  beyont 
your  caret 


Jrihur  Strkt§tr 


Sure,  some  other  mouth  she'll  find  her, 
Wid  as  sootherin'  ways  to  blind  her — 
Yet  rm  tfainkin'  av  those  ould  eyes,  those  gray 

eyetwatchia'cherel 
And  Fm  <lreaiiiia*  vr  a  waitin*  teril  with  tea^ 
mitt  on  her  hairt 


III 

If  ye  are  cold  wid  wimmen,  'fit  throe  in  law 

and  letther, 

They'll  lave  ye  wid  their  moitherin',  and  leam 
to  love  ye  betther! 

So  niver  go  the  whole  lingth  .  .  .  but  keep 
yoor  fancy  free! 
Odi,  if  she'd  only  been  afraid; 
If  only  »he'd  not  dui^  and  ^ayed, 
That  gerrl  and  all  her  gray  eyea  woidd  not  be 
pesterin'  mel 


IV 

Few  wimmcn  love  a  month  long,  and  most,  in 

faith,  a  minute  1 
But  when  tHt  g^ve  her  month  up  her  pleadin' 

tool  was  uiitl 

53 


Irish  Poem^ 


A  heap  vw  tears  and  throuble,  sure,  this  kissin' 
brings  to  s<miel 

But  niver  such  a  shltp  again   .   .  . 

And  niver  such  a  lip  again, 
Wid  ail  these  calm-eyed  wimmen  that's  kiss 

and  go  and  come, 
Wid  all  these  laughin'  furrin  mouths  I'm  takin' 

nothin'  froml 


54 


Arthur  Stringer 


THE  PEOPLE  OF  DREAMS 

Y  DREAM  av  the  good  days  gone, 

Av  the  hick  I  ttiU  might  find; 
But  the  lurin'-most  times  these  eyes  look  <m 
Are  the  years  left  far  behimdl 

Aroo,  how  a  Kelt  heart  clings 

To  the  Dreamin'  and  not  the  truth ! 

How  it  harps  on  the  ould  good  ways  and  sings 
In  the  teeth  ay  ttt  watted  youthl 

We  thravcl  too  early  or  late 

For  the  shpot  where  the  sunlight  glowed; 
And  it's  niver  the  place  we  watch  and  wait 

That  the  rainbow  meets  the  road! 


55 


Irish  Potmt 


MAN  TO  MAN 

Y^'LL  find  two  kiodt  ar  wimmai,  lad, 

When  ye  have  tfed  a  bit; 
And  faix,  they're  all  not  good  nor  bact— 
And  that*!  the  wont  av  it  I 

Ye'll  find  tome  Wimmcn  longin'  so 

For  love,  lad,  if  ye  would  I 
Ye  know  it  well,  and  whilst  ye  know 

Ye  can't,  and  niver  could  I 

And  some  ye'll  kiss  who  sthill  stay  cold; 

Aye,  thim  who  might  and  won't — 
And  thim  ye'd  walk  through  Hell  to  hold, 

And  love,  because  they  don't  I 


56 


Arthur  Stringer 


MESSAGES 

T  N  faith,  I  knew  av  wireleu  talk 
Thii  twinty  yean  and  more: 
Widoot  s  sign,  widout  a  word, 
At  I  pMMd  SheeU't  door, 

Thtt  gtrri  could  tend  %  message  dear 
Pfcseiv».7gapui'lieidl 

Ay,  past  their  ring  av  watchin'  eyct 
I'd  know  what  ShMls  Mkll 

I'd  read  each  message  teat  from  her 

At  sixty  rod  away: 
"Och,  meet  me  out  be  Tullagh  Hilll" 
As  plain  as  words  could  sayl 

"Inftithlwilir'  I'd  answer  back, 
Wid  bat  win  look  or  two; 

'*And  all  me  heart  is  adua*  tore 
Wid  all  me  We  for  yoal** 

57 


 Irish  Poems 

Or  patsin'  in  a  side-car, 
Wid  all  her  haughty  folk, 

Her  soul  would  up  and  say  to  me 
At  plain  as  tho'  she  spoke: 

"They  pesther  me  wid  watchin*, 

They  crott  me  ivry  tnm, 
But  soul  and  body  I*U  be  youft 
This  night  be  TuUngh  Bnriir 


i  \ 


58 


t 

Arthur  Stringer 


THETHRUSK 


I 


r\  CH,  wee  thnnh  a-tfaintm*  to  sing  out 
^     Sttch  music  an'  tootberin'  WMig, 
Such  heait-breakin'  longin'  to  wru^  out, 

Such  swearin'  the  world's  all  wrong — 
Faith,  all  the  lone  heart  that  ye  fling  out 
Should  be  lovin'  a  whole  life  long  I 


Oh,  wood-thrush,  I  listen  an'  listen, 
For  a  song  from  yon  wee  nest  above. 

Since  matiii*  your  music  Fm  missin', 

For  tiiere's  nothin*  left  out  to  sing  of~ 

'Tis  the  lip  that  ye'll  never  see  iktUM* 
Js  singing  former  of  hvei 


II 


59 


irisk  Poms 


O'iURA  THE  B  RD-MAN 

I^OMMROW  Iktfrt  bangifl'  O  Har.  av 
Glenn, 

For  a  Fenian  or  two  at  i^  kflt  in  s  %kt 
O'Hara  the  Bird-Man's  to  hang  hma  «  trtt 
For  a  hit  av  alallMi*  h*  liii  btii  iii^  l 


There's  sorra  hope  left  if  they're  tcrii^' 

Wid  a  towl  fikc  <mm%  that's  saying  the 
least — 


Och,  what  a  mistake  to  be  hingin'  a  ««« 
So  fofld  av  tach  Mirit  waa  bii^e  mi  Iwf 


60 


Y^*^  w«  •  tr«.*t»,  .or  a  foot  like  a 


Ye'i ;  it  dif     jmui     t^e  litarl" 

^.^S*^      ^      »°      "Weepy  loft  way 

vena«sfe   !  nor  a  face,  be  t  nilg, 
Ami*  i^mt4iHk$r       m  ikg  ^ftf 


6% 


Irish  Poems 


THE  THROUBLE 

OCH,  why  ahould  I  think  av  that  thlip  ay  a 
gerrl, 

Av  that  soft  litde  whisp  av  a  thing? 
Och,  why  should  the  throuble  a  ranger  like  me, 
Who's  thravded  and  taken  me  ling? 

Aroo,  and  a  pea  is  a  mite  av  a  thing, 

Tho'  shut  in  your  shoe  and  'twill  shmart! 

But  a  mite  av  a  gerrl  will  throuble  ye  more 
fVhen  she's  tight  on  the  tip  av  your  heart/ 


Arthur  Stringer 


THE  SNOWBIRD 

C  TILL  wid  hit  wee  oold  botom  wanii, 

Och,  mad  at  hare  or  lutter, 
He  pipes  and  jiga  throogb  hr'iy  atoriii^ 
So  wha9  caa  Winter  matter? 

Faith,  laugh  and  leave  your  tears  behind, 
And  iing  thro'  toil  and  throuble,— . 

rWi  sm  «  lund  of  bein'  bUnd, 
Thsfs  more  Oum  tuUf  ioMe/ 


ft 


irish  Potms 


SOUPI£  TERENCE 
I 

T  'M  wishful  to  live  at  the  story-books  say, 

I'm  achin'  to  love  as  they  loved  av  old; 
I  want  to  be  drunken  and  swimmin'  in  bliss, 
And  weepin'  and  sighin'  and  ravin'  away 
Loike  the  old  tales  said  and  the  old  songs 
tdd— 

Bat,  imA,  and  how  do  y«  love  fflw  tkb? 

n 

Vv9  lored  in  me  day,  and  1*01  hopiii*  to  more; 
Vvt  taken  me  ckaace,  and  Vrt  ttofett  me  Idm; 
te,  faith,  and  I've  niver  gone  mad  over  ttl 
The  further  I've  tbraveled  away  tnn  tbe 

shore 

The  tighter  I've  held  on  to  that  and  to  this, 
And,  ochi  but  I've  had  me  eye  open  a  bit  1 


THE  SISTERHOOD 


T  'VE  knocked  about  the  Sivin  Sett, 

I've  thraveled  long  and  thravekd  Kg^f 
From  Cardiff  down  to  Carib  keys, 
FfDm  Shanghai  round  to  Benin  Bight 

Ffon  Rotterdam  to  'Fritco  Bay, 

Fran  Bmlol  detr  to  Singapore, 
T  Ve  swung  and  Mug  and  ittd  me  WW 

Wid  wiMMB  that  rt  Mi  a^mim. 

In  fjord,  atoll  and  harbor  torn, 
^  Far  North,  and  far  beyont  the  Line, 
IVe  had  thim,  black  and  white  and  brows— 
And  ahpeakin*  i^'ry  toogiie  botaitael 

Aye,  kiMin'  back  wid  furrin  words 

I'd  niver  know  the  meanin*  of, 
Aii^  cQob*  iolt  kuke  shleepy  birds 

^  '  i      w  liiMi  tad  fan  ST  lovt  I 

«5 


 Irish  Poems 

But,  white  or  black  or  brown,  I  knew 
N<rt  wtittt  their  hathen  tongue  or  name : 

Yet  in  the  end  Pve  found  ifs  tkme 
Most  Wry  vnuum  weept  ike  smnet 


66 


Jrihmr  Stringer 


THE  WAY  WID  SINGIN' 

PAITH,  nhrer  tit  saU  caUs  the  frith-wind, 

*     Nor  the  tnrf  comets  tlK  rain; 

And  nivcr  the  Fairy-Thora  freta  for  the  spring, 

Or  the  brae  for  the  aommer  again ! 
And  nivcr  a  boreen  can  ask  for  a  bird, 

Or  beg  for  a  whiihchat't  itnunl 

Not  took  from  me  head  are  these  planxties ; 

Thew  diiiiMt  they  «re  nothin'  av  meni 
They  come  as  the  wUa-chst  comes  in  spring 

And  the  grackle-thrush  back  to  the  glen  I 
They  come  loike  the  rain  to  the  turf,  me  kid, 

And  the  Saints  know  how  and  whoil 


67 


Irish  Poem$ 


MQCma  IRELAND 

A  TRUE  and  dark>eyed  Mother  Land,  yeVe 

mourned  thim  day  be  day, 
The  childer'  av  your  achin'  breast  whoVe  fared 
aworid««niyI 

nwimifi  mA  be  loagh  and  whin,  ye*Te 
mourned  for  all  your  lott, 
But  still  ye've  smiled  and  stiU  ye*ve  watdwd 
and  *^ntfd  not  the  coatl 

And  dark,  in  faith,  the  ould  hours  fell  and  cold 
the  ath«  grew, 

But  Irefaod,  M odKr  Inind,  tdll  ye*ve  waited 
fond  and  thrue; 

And  now  the  Night  has  vadshed,  wid  the  sor- 
rows it  has  known, 

We'U  hear  the  call  av  Irelnd,  ladi,  av  Ireland 
to  her  own  I 


68 


Arthur  Stringer 


LOST  SONGS 


A  ROO,  but  tliere*t  singin*  I've  struck  up 

Wid  nivcr  a  note  to  be  heard, 
When  me  heart  widout  sthirrin'  the  silence 
Shtood  by  me  and  sang  like  a  birdl 

So  if  all  the  ould  dreams  tbat  escaped  me 
^f^tft  Ming  to  the  dnmet  ^iuA  got  itttf 

Vd  be  weavin'  ye  rainbows  av  rapture 
And  rfumiw*  tibe  thfirtK  ntfl  chmc  I 

But  och,  'tis  the  birds  that  are  ailin', 
Bide  dose  by  our  coaxin'  and  sing; 

*Tis  the  music  worth  housiti^  and  keepit^ 
Forkftr  tmeikts  c§  9mtiu  wm§l 


Irish  Poems 


WIMMEN  FOLK 

'pIME  was  I  thoogiit  av  winimeii,  rare. 
As  made  to  rcvcrince,  limb  be  limb: 
As  something  holy-like  and  pure 
Thro'  all  the  snow  white  length  av  tfaimi 

I  dreamed  av  gerrls  as  angels,  lad, 

Wid  all  their  wistful  holy  ways, 
To  leave  you  thremblin'  when  ye'd  had 

Awordwiddum   .   .   .    in  oulder  daysl 

But  now  IVe  leaned  me  topsaU  lore 

And  roved  the  sea  from  rim  to  rim, 
I  seldom  wait  and  quake  before 

The  toft  and  mow  wliite  ]«igdi  ay  diiml 

For  when  gerrls  love  you  w<;il,  me  lad, 

^'^^  '°  nayther  law  nor  letdier; 
%jn    '^'^'^^        disheartenin'  bad 
TrUhmrm  to  love  such  angels  betther/ 

70 


Arthur  Stringer 


THE  THROUBUN'  THINGS 

Jf  AITH,  linnets  arc  a  throublc,  lad; 

They  must  be  screened  an'  fed, 
An*  miined  beyont  your  cabin  door, 
An' carried  back  to  bed  I 

Faith,  love  it  b  a  burthen,  geril; 

'Tis  iver  give  an' take; 
Aye,  knowin'  how  ye  give  too  tmi^ 

An'  niver  count  the  ache! 

Och,  diikier,*  ma'am,  are  worrisome, 

An'  fret  an'  tluoiibit  f aS 
On  wimmen  wiiin  tkeir  colder*  come; 

They  have  ao  peace  at  alll 

But  song  aW  love  are  childer*,  faith, 
These  things  youWe  gettivf  free, 
These  things  you^ve  held  to  pest  ye  so, 
Are  thf  Mngs  ye^U  $nd  can  rest  ye  so, 
Are  th'  things  y^U  mmd  kme  Uest  ye  so 
fFhim  ywire  m  otOd  ss  met 

71 


Irish  Potms 


THE  OULD  WORLD'S  WAY 

CURE,  many's  the  sailorin'  lad 
^  Went  tingin'  and  rockin'  free 
Out  over  tlie  Oeean'i  rim 
At  happy  as  us,  machreel 

But  many's  the  time,  me  lad — 
Such  ends  the  ould  world  brings — 

That  over  the  laugh  and  last  av  him 
'Tis  the  sea  that  rocks  and  swings/ 

And  nuuiy^t  the  boy  wid  a  plough 

Who'd  sing  at  tlw  break  av  day 
At  he  turned  the  vekAd  wid  liit  thart 

And  buried  the  grass  away  I 
fiut  many's  the  same  lad,  now 

That  sootherin'  greensward  won, 
Jnd  over  his  gray  bones  there 

'Tit  tha  grass  tksi  tmgs  in  the  sun/ 


7a 


THE  SEEKERS 

Smys  Sht: 

a  long  way  ye've  thnTiIed,  me  thnie 

**  love, 
Tis  a  long  thrip  ye'vc  made  oa  the  tea, 
For  the  sake  av  a  thlip  aT  a  girrl  kike  me^ 

For  a  bit  av  a  kiss 

No  betther  than  this — 
Til  a  long  road  yeVe  thraveled,  Machreel 

TwM  a  long  way  andloM  w^,  Mwomtt^ 
But  it's  millions  av  miles,  as  Hi  famm, 
That  a  hungerin*,  waadami*  tmkttm  goes 

To  be  gettin'  a  kiss 
No  warmer  than  this 
From  the  lips  av  no  sweeter  a  roael 


73 


Irish  Poems 


POSSESSION 


I 

TCAGED  me  waait  a  Ufk  and  let  him  got 
I  cftttght  me  wanst  a  sqiiirr>I  and  set  him 

free! 

I  left  a  Galway  colleen  sobbin'  low, 
And  off  I  wint  to  sea, 
Aye,  off  I  wint  to  tea  I 


n 

Fvc  had  me  turn  at  things,  and  now  I'm  old; 
But  dioae  I've  lost  thtand  most  bewaderia* 
near  I 

And  those  I  loved  and  ntver  dreamed  to  hold 
Fve  kept  this  many  t  year, 
In  faith,  this  nuu^  a  year! 


74 


NOREEN  OF  BALLYBREE 

¥  SAILED  in  me  fine  new  hooktr 

To  Ballybree,  over  the  bay, 
Where  Noreen  O'Regen,  me  ould  iort. 
Is  Itfiii*  this  many  a  day. 

X*lVts  Noreen  took  up  wid  a  poacher, 
A  Ballyhree  Made  caBed  Ned, 

Wid  niver  a  ham  nor  a  htre  4tin 
Bat  what     poor  ^iWnigt  cadd  tttril) 

And  Noreen  I  found,  ulth,  wid  chBiiff^ 
As  thick  as  the  hairs  on  a  goat, 

Ail  squealin*  and  crowdin*  like  rabbits 
While  I  showed  her  me  juie  nv  a  boat  I 

"But  have  ye  no  w'fc  ncr  rhildcr'?" 

Sayi  she,  wid  a  perk  av  the  head, 
(Aad  her  bosom  as  itt  as  a  deck-board. 

And  her  hn^  aB  SfMi^'  for  bteadt) 

75 


 Irish  Poem 

"Och,  Milin\"  tayt  the,  'Smiy  be  Mulia*, 
But  when  it's  all  shpokea  and  done, 

'Tis  us  wid  our  fine  homes  and  childn' 
Are  Uvin^  and  hmnwf  our  fwt/** 


7« 


Artkmr  Birim§*r 


THE  PRIDfi  OF  ERIN 

CO  she  sayt,  lad,  ahe'd  only  take  op  wid  t 
^  man 

Who  was  wan  av  the  best,  faith,  the  crame  av 
the  dan, 

And  the  pride     the  couotfary  and  salt  ar  the 

earth? 

So  she's  leavia'  yon,  lad,  not  knowta*  yoor 

worth, 

And  she  holds  the  can't  mate  wid  a  Kerry  like 

you. 

Since  ahe't  plannin'  to  take  on  wid  blood  that 
itbiiiet 

And  the  Divil  go  wid  her,  birt  cm^b't  die  tee 
You'd  the  blood  vr  O'Gomian,  FittpMrick, 

Magee? 

And  the  stock  that  is  first  in  both  fightin'  and 

woric, 

From  the  line  av  O'Brien  and  Kelly  and  Buike? 

—From  OTaSey,  0*Dailey,  CReily,  (Wea 
To  O'Connell,  O'Cooaey,  0*SIm»  nai 
O'Shcai 

77 


Irish  Poems 

McCaffray.  McCuidijr,  hkCunM,  ht 

Cann, 

AH  rulers  and  fighters  since  fightin'  began  1 
O'Leary,  O'Farrell,  O'CarroU.  O'Kane. 
McCoimack,  McGurly,  McManui,  Mc- 
Sluuie, 

And  Gonrnm,  Fitspttrtck  and  Fightin* 
McGirr, 

And  iv'ry  last  nuw  av  than  btttlier  Am 
herl 


So  the  lays  you're  no  betther  than  Irish,  me 

But  a  counthry4>ied,  wmia^^mk^  feahu,  be- 
dad  I 

The  whiffet  1  the  updilutl  the  mmMti  koo' 

thoon I 

And  could  she  be  teUin',  though  fed  on  a  spoon, 
The  crame  av  the  world  from  ouid  Brim 

Faitb,  haw  cadi  Om  kept  ^  t  Emy  Wm 

you  ? — 

With  the  pride  ar  your  IMS  a^kn^iaiMr 

veins, 

Wid  your  mother  O'Toole,  and  yw  fifi  m 
MdShanes  ? 

78 


Wid  yoor  aMtttry  iv'ry  wao  we»rin'  his  crown, 

—From  O'Failcy,  O'DaUey,  O'Reily,  OmA 
To  O'Conndi  OXmmy,  asim  and 

O'Sheil  I 

McCftffray»  McCurchy,  McCanoU,  Mc- 

McCioiie  and  HrTtrj  nj  i^'ry 
one  I 

O'Lcary,  O'Farrcll,  O'CarroU,  0*Kta% 
McCormack,  McGuffy,  McMaaw^ 
Shane, 

And  Tagon  O'Regen  and  Mkhtf  Mc- 
Qooe, 

^^^^^"•^  «v  tod  kingi  to  die 


n 


Irish  Poems 


wmuEN 

*  I  "'HERE  arc  wimmen's  faces,  lad, 
■*      That  arc  wind  and  fire, 
Slitirni'  up  the  wlMle  world, 
Wakb'  o«id  de«ret 

And  there's  other  wimmen,  faith. 
Calm  and  shtill  through  aU^ 

Shtickin'  to  their  wan  lov« 
Till  thehivcnt  faUl 

Wtt'tatliiMaslidlfirc: 
Waa'tat  tint  M  Mil 
W m  f^U  Iguve  and  weep  for, 


ArUtmr  Stringtr 


THE  SIRENS 
O  '^c^mn'^  »i«ht-tiine  I  can  hear  thim 


caiiin'  me, 

Callin',  caiiin'  thwMter  duo  .  woman  to  litr 

love. 


In 


the 


and 


acrosst 
•tone, 

^"^^.^J^"?'  ^^^'o'^  «»d  thrailin' 

•binoke  abovt; 

l^wogli  ^  amnled  fdacca  I  cm  abneU  the 

open  Sea 

And  I  hear  her  iinna  oUUn*.  ctib*  for  didr 

ownl 

I  caii  wake  and  httr  tiini  boonnn'  thro*  the 
narbor  rain, 

At  the  break  avmomin'  I  can  hear  than  bwH 
Mdcough, 

ti 


Irish  Poems 


Till  I  see  the  aUapiNii*,  lappia*  litiboMrotiitr 

churn 

Round  the  rusty  side^Utet  and  the  lighten 

crowdin'  off  I 

Faith,  I  know  then  I  mutt  go  and  talte  the  End- 
less Thrail, 

For  the  ihtreett  become  a  thronble  and  all  Kfe 

becomes  a  fret 
And  the  city  seems  a  priaon  built  av  sthone  and 
stheel — 

But  there's  manhood  in  the  facin',  racin'  av  a 
gale 

Wid  the  £ppin\  drippin*  hawie-holea  and  the 

decks  a-reel  1 
For  the  Sea  is  like  a  woman  that  you'll  ne'er 

forget, 

And  she's  callin'  thro'  the  night-time,  callin* 

thro'  the  dawn — 
And  Pm  §mtf  $9  hum  her  Ust  kiss  h4fort  me 

Ui§  is  gmul 


81 


Arthur  Stringer 


* 


THE  DISCOVERY 

^T^HE  lee  and  the  long  av  it  now  that  ye're 
*  thfouili 

Seam  under  the  no  ^re  can  find  nothin*  new— 
So  fnd^  111  be  ipyiperm' jpfatt  ye  nii^ 

Go  study  some  colleen's  cometfaerin'  eye, 
And  whin  ye  ha^t  hnnthered  and  blanifd  her 

thry 

A  flattherin'  tadncM,  a  bit  av  a  sigh. 

And  whin  ye  have  found  that  she's  taken  wid 

Faidi,  whether  ye  hnigh  or  whete  yc  loe, 
Yell  fo  the  taiae  way  yoer  bettfaef^iOi  dol 

Ye'll  come  to  your  sinset,  me  inlmwtjpininii. 
And  drunk  wid  the  wine  9W  Mme  wmm-m^ 

in  June, 

Ye'll  be  kissin'  her  mouth  and  watchin'  the 
Boonl 

•3 


 Irish  Pogms  

jind  under  the  sun,  faith,  nothing  is  new-^ 
But  under  that  noon  ye*U  find  that  it's  thrue 
There^s  stranger  ould  wonders  Shin  her  ye 
hmmt 


THE  DANCING  DAYS 


9^  IS  a  TMT  Md  •  cby  back  to  KiadfiM 
'     Where  the  genk  htA  no  Aom  to 

their  feet! 
Tis  many  a  mile  to  the  ould  town 
Where  the  childer'  wantt  danced  in  the 
street  1 

Here's  bread  to  be  had  for  the  breakin*; 

Here's  moilin'  and  f rettin'  and  froth  I 
&it  tUnldii*  sv  Home,  bow  me  heart's  blood 

Mutt  1%  fite  •  «m  o*  BaHiI 


Av  Home,  och,  where  down  thro'  the  ould 
■trcct 

Wid  his  pipin*  went  Ragged  MacGee 
And  faith,  how  dM  collect  Ihnuled  fooad  at 

his  heels 

And  all  jigged  like  the  leaves  av  a  treel 

«5 


Mik  Po*m 


The  walls  were  t  tumble  »v  itone-hetpt, 
The  akim-milk  wid  wathcr  was  thinned, 
And  the  thatch  it  was  broken  and  noM- 

Art  w«  dMMd  like  the  gnaa  hi  the  wind  I 

Not  worth  a  traneen  was  the  viUaga^ 
But  no  wan  wa»  sthoppin*  to  fret-* 
^nd  I'll  wa§gr  tkeff         Ukg  s  m§49p 

rdik,  ismhf  and  sUuvUe  Oure  ytti 


dtftktur  Stringer 


BY  THE  SBApWALL 

thould  niver  lui?e  wilkcd  to  dM  obI4 
^  ^  tea-waU 

Aad  httrirMwdtht  ould  grey  Sea; 
We  thould  aim  htft  McM  dM  Southern 

CroM, 

That  Mi»lMad  left  aadl  net 

I  thould  niver  have  left  that  bamboo  rocn 
Wid  itt  tcent  and  itt  winkin'  lamp 

Aad  walked  thro*  the  tthiU  av  the  Tropic  night 
WkM»  liM  TiMdai  hfew  warn  ami  (kmpi 

I  thould  niver  have  watched  the  ould  tidet  fwhn 
Wid  their  thimmerin*  glimmerin*  glow 

That  led  me  back  to  my  lott  Thnw  Low 
And  the  hillt  av  long  ago  1 

I  thould  aivor  havt  tamed  to  think  or  dream 

Av  that  Thfoe  Lovt  ioit  to  me, 
And  the  wayi  I  went  for  my  Thrue  Love's  sake 

Who  aivor  ny  lovo  would  bel 

•7 


MICROCOPY  RESCHUTION  TEST  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


Irish  Poems 


And  that  brown-armed  ihlip  ay  an  Island  gerrl 

Should  niver  have  let  me  go 
Where  the  winds  av  the  East  came  lathin'  up 
And  the  ould  Sea  whispered  lowl 

For  the  wind  and  the  palm  and  the  throubled 
surf 

They  tould  me  as  plain  as  day: 
"Ye're  kissin*  a  ghost  in  a  world  av  ghosts 
And  your  Thrue  Love's  worlds  away  I" 

For  whiniver  I  watched  the  ould  sad  stars 
I  could  see  but  me  Thrue  Love's  eyes — 

And  the  love  that  has  swept  and  kept  a  man 
Is  niver  the  love  he  boys  I 

So  the  warmth  went  out  av  me  wonderin*  heart 

And  we  kissed  no  more  at  all, 
That  gerrl  wid  the  painted  mouth  and  me 
As  we  sat  on  the  ould  sea-wall  I 


88 


Arthur  Stringer 


.THE  EVENING  UP 

^,y^IN  Shamus  O'Regen  was  scUin'  me  hay, 
And  as  shcuch-rank  as  iver  was  mowed, 
«ed  sett  hit  gerrl  Moira,  for  such  was  his 
wty, 

On  the  top  air  hit  thiiiihle.rig  load. 

And  he'd  bring  me  hit  acrapin's  ar  thistle  and 

whin. 

And  I'd  take  thim  wid  niver  a  word; 
But  I'd  hold  for  a  breath,  as  the  cart  jolted  in, 
Moira'a  hand,  that  was  soft  as  a  bird. 

For  Moira  was  wishtfol  and  white  u  the  May, 
And  her  eyes  they  would  dirouble  yoor  heart 

TiU  any  ould  bramble  seemed  special  fine  hay 
Wid  her  face  at  the  top  av  the  cart 

Y^nie  horse  and  me  cattle  wint  lean  as  a  kite, 
Wid  their  feedia'  on  Shamus's  hay. 

And  I'd  figure  me  loss  to  a  rick  oveMiight^ 
Biit^  in  f  a&fa,  I  had  aothia' t9  ny. 

«9 


Imh  Posms 


For,  Moin  and  me,  we  secr^y  met 
At  the  end    odd  Ballybree  Wall, 
Jnd  sht  f0oe  me  the  word  $kat  soon  wuide  m$ 

forget 

I'd  hftr  be$m  cheMd  0$  alii 


90 


THE  WISE  MAN 

MICHAEL  hat  a  book-thelf 
Stacked  amazin*  high  I 
Michtd  reads  in  wnn  tongiiet 
Widft  ihemiiy  ejrel 

Faith,  he's  caUed  a  wise  maa, 
Readin'  half  the  night; 

Delvin'  into  stoodjous  things 
Betther  kept  from  sight  I 

Michael  spends  a  Spring  day 
Squintin*  o'er  a  script — 

Michael  niver  kisst  a  gerri 
Wftim  and  foty-lippedl 

Faith,  Fve  stadied  long,  now, 
Wimmeii  and  their  ways — 
And  judgw*  where  it's  took  me 
were  steo^oas  daysl 

9^ 


Irish  Poems 


Little  rote  IVe  learnt  me, 
Little  have  I  read— 

But  I  knofv  a  thing  or  two 
Not  in  MichaePs  hgat 


91 


Arthur  Stringer 


THE  iBND 

"l^AN  touch  ty  Up  to  lip  it  teemed 
»  »     Would  ease  and  end  desire; 
Wan  mad  kiss  at  the  most,  I  dreamed, 
Would  quench  the  ache  and  fire. 

When  wishtful-eyed  she  gave  wan  kiti, 

The  touch  I'd  hungered  for, 
The  thrue  end,  faith,  I  saw  was  this : 

Not  wan,  bnt  fifty  morel 

And  heart  to  heart  she  gave  thim  free, 

Soft  kiwet,  day  by  day; 
But  still  f>ome  end  that  throidM  me 

Stood  ofi  a  world  away  I 

And  while  we  yearned  and  ere  we  learned 
We  groped  to  wan  gift  more; 

And  havin'  that,  the  end  was  earned, 
And  Sorrow  shut  the  door  I 


93 


Irish  Poms 


THE  OLD  MEN 
^HROUGH  tbe  ;  4e  w  the  crow<kd 

The  thrappin's  av  table  crept; 
Where  the  light  av  the  son  lay  sweet 
The  black-clothed  moumera  itept 

And  him — ^who'd  feared  at  the  sight 

Av  coffin  and  heane  and  sthone, 
HeU  ahleep  widoat  fetr  dut  ni|^ 

In  tile  cbuchysrd  ivid  lib  mvnt 

But  och,  at  the  sight  ay  his  hearse, 
For  a  breath,  how  we  all  lay  cold 

In  the  gloom  and  the  clutch  and  the  cone 
Av  Death  and  Hia  drippin*  mould  1 

For  a  minute  our  ould  backs  bowed 
Wid  the  weight  ar  hie  grayeyard  day: 

Then  the  leeiw*  fmmd  oi  like  e  cknid 
And  we  wtkflMd  Md  went  onr  wef  • 


Yet  fmx,  now,  Pm  wonderin*  if  Dtiah 
Deep  under  the  loam  and  the  lorn 

Is  throubled,  in  turn,  for  a  breath, 
fFken  he's  toldt  av  a  child  beni  bormf. 


9§ 


Irish  Pomu 


THE  MORNIN'S  MORNIN' 


^AYS  O'Curran  to  me  xvid  a  bitthersome  eye, 


*^  fFatchin'  the  viather  that'd  flooded  his  sty, 
And  blinkivf  up  into  a  girM  moist  sky: 

"Ochone  and  me  heart  is  that  heavy,  me  ladl 

Aroo,  and  I'll  niver  be  laughin'  again ; 
For  the  world  holds  nothin'  but  what's  gone 


And  rm  lotin*  me  pigi  wid  the  rami 

• 

And  IVe  worried  it  out  to  the  bttthennoit  end; 
I  tee  it  at  plain  at  the  note  on  your  lace. 

Och,  we  go  to  our  grave  wid  niver  a  friend — 
And  I'm  tired  ay  thia  tfaroubleiome  placet'* 

Says  O'Curran  to  me  void  a  shmile  and  s  mtUt 

Afther  Vd  passt  him  me  bit  av  a  drink, 

And  Md  studied  the  sky  and  shtarted  to  think: 


bad, 


96 


Arthur  Stritifgr 


**Sm,  it's  lae  to  be  tbtsndia*  ud  tdda*  mr 
eate, 

And  watchin      Hivena  fair  fakib*  wid  joy  I 
Faidi,  it'a  good  to  be  livin'  on  aonua'a  Kkff 
theae — 

Tie  •  laughin'  ould  jrorld,  me  boyl 

For  faith,  if  wui  cmidda't  be  eaia*  a  bit 
We'd  niver  be  feelia*  the  other  way,  Ud; 

We'd  niver  know  joy  and  be  tchin'  for 
And  niver  be  jiggiii'  and  j^adl" 

And  he  looked  out  at  me  wid  a  ehirrupy  eye 
And  I  pMSt  him  the  bottle  in  over  the  sty 
Where  Us  drom^d  pigs  pointed  their  feet  to 


97 


THE  OLD  HOUND 


^^HEN  Shamut  made  shift  wid  a  turf>hut 
He'd  miught  but  a  hound  to  his  name ; 
And  whitller  he  west  thrailed  the  ould  friend, 
Dot>fatthihil  and  hrer  the  Mmet 

And  he'd  gnaw  thro'  a  rope  in  the  aighttiiiie, 

He'd  eat  thro'  a  wall  or  a  door, 
He'd  shwim  thro'  a  lough  in  the  windMTi 

To  be  wid  hit  matter  wantt  more  I 


And  the  two,  faith,  would  thare  their  latt 
bannodc; 

They'd  there  their  latt  caUop  ami  bone; 
And  deep  in  the  ttarin'  ould  tad  eyes 
Lean  Shamt»  would  ttare  wid  hit  ownl 


And  loose  hung  the  flanks  av  the  ould  hound 
When  Shamus  lay  sick  on  his  bed — 

Ay,  waitin'  and  watching  wid  sad  eyes 
Where  he'd  eat  not  av  bone  or  av  bread  1 

98 


'Ankmr  Sirmftr  

SlitmM  be  Springtime  grew  betthtr, 
And  ft  thnoble  came  into  hit  mind; 
And  he'd  take  himself  off  to  the  village 
And  be  kftvia' hit  iKmad  bdyadl 

And  deep  was  the  whine  av  the  ould  dog 
Wid  a  iove  that  was  deeper  than  life — 

But  be  Michicfanas,  faith,  it  was  whispered 
That  ShanM  wva  ttdda* »  wUtt 

A  wife  and  a  fine  house  he  got  boat 
In  a  shay  he  went  drivin'  around; 

And  I  met  him  be  chance  at  the  Cross  Roads 
And  I  says  to  him :  "How's  the  ould  boond?' 

**hh  wile  obw  tooktt  tlHtt  mM  dog," 
Siys  he  wid  ft  abnig-iir  Ut  dbrtii 

"So  we've  got  us  a  new  dog  from  6«Im  , 
Jnd  odh  h^t  sh€  dmi  for  rmtr 


Irish  Poem 


SAYS  OLD  DOCTOR  MA»GINN 

T  F  the  Diviltry  mixed  wid  Man 
Is  Icavin'  us  far  from  good, 
Faith,  let  us  be  honest  at  least,  me  lad, 
As  Diva  or  Saint  we  should  I 

And  though  few  av  us  w«lk  the  ptth 
That  the  Holier  Men  hive  trod, 

To  be  fair  wid  the  Sinner  as  well  u  the  Stint 
Is  keepin'  in  touch  wid  God  I 


100 


Arthur  Stringer 


THE  FO*CASTLE  SAGE 

yj'E'LL  watch  for  the  palms  thro*  the  dusk. 

And  ye'U  come  to  a  hill-side  av  light, 
And  ye'll  sniff  at  a  stray  scent  av  musk 
And  be  stealin*  off  land'ard  at  night  I 

Ye'll  be  crowdin'  past  hathen  and  hoor 
And  convarsin'  wid  winunen,  me  lad; 

And  the  quicker  they  teem  to  allure. 
The  dower  yell  reuon  they're  badl 

But  bewtre  ay  the  bantherin'  lip, 
And  bewaxe  av  the  mottherin*  eye{ 

And  beware  ay  the  olive-brown  slip 
That  ungi  at  a  lad  goes  by! 

And  take  heed,  for  the  take  av  your  ieol^ 

Av  the  song  the  city  may  sing; 
And  beware  av  the  midnight  bowl, 
And  the  touch  av  the  trailin'  wingl 

xoi 


Stand  oflF  from  the  hive  av  the  Bad; 

Keep  back  from  the  drip  av  the  comb; 
And  take  thought  av  your  luck,  me  lad, 

Wid  the  whole  dean  Sea  for  a  home  I 

For,  on  land  *tis  all  throublet  begin; 

And  your  home  'tis  on  wather  and  brine, 
And  not  in  their  harbours  av  Sin, 

Wid  their  music  and  laughin'  and  wine  I 

So  take  iheeil  by  what  happened  to  me, 
And  if  ye*re  for  keepin*  from  harm, 

Stick  dose  to  your  ship  and  the  Sea, 
Whet«  tben'e  nodiin'  b«t  wndicr  laditDnnl 


THE  WSAXQUQ  OF  TfiE^REEN 

X^E'RE  wearin'  tv  the  green,  boyi, 

Beneath  their  English  rose; 
We're  wvtnii*  tv  the  deeper  green 
That  HcMBe  «ad  IftlMd  knows  I 

The  green  av  hobn  and  boglaiid» 
The  green  av  lough  and  lake, 

The  green  that  takes  us  back  agaia 
And  brings  the  oMen  ache  I 

The  green     Aran  wathers, 

The  green  av  Raddm 
The  green  «v  afl  fbe  hills  av  Hflihe, 

And  tbe  gvem  nv  IfdMd'e 


f»5 


! 


Irish  Poems 


MOISTY  WEATHER 

npHESE,  in  faith,  arc  Irish  days, 
^     Duy  «▼  rain  and  days  av  haze ; 
Misty,  mottty,  tpit  and  drool; 
Iv'ry  street-turn  wid  its  pool ; 
Iv'ry  hedge  and  thatch  a-drip; 
Wather,  sure,  to  float  a  thipt 

Not  a  boreen,  not  a  brick. 
Not  4  road,  and  not  a  rick, 
Not  a  throat,  and  not  a  sty, 
Ye'll  find,  this  day,  in  Ireland  dry  I 
— ^And  all  the  hay-crop 's  goin'  bad, 
Buf  what  can  Umgh  tikg  vmher,  ladf 


104 


Arikur  Stringer 


WINGS 
I 

T  TAMED  me  wanst  a  wee  bird 
*    Taken  from  the  rain; 
I  wanned  it  by  me  tnrf-fire 
And  it  grew  ttrong  again. 
"And  Hiven  he^»»  says  I,  "the  cat 
That  hanna  a  wee  iolt  tUng  like  thatl** 

No  hurt  nor  harm  came  to  it 

Close  behind  me  wall, 
But  wan  fine  day  in  April 

I  heard  a  wood-thmtli  call; 
And  as  I  watched  me  atartied  btid» 
Fahh,  oi  it  WMt  wyoBt «  woid! 

U 

I  reared  me  wanst  a  wee  gefil 

As  gende  as  the  May; 
I  kept  her  from  the  cold  world, 

I  watdied  her  in  her  play: 
105 


irkk  Potm 


"Gawd  help  the  ahtreel  who'd  iver  try 
To  take  that  gerrl  from  mel"  laya  1. 

And  yestereve  I  watched  her 

Go  crecpia*  through  the  gate, 
And,  hidin*  like  a  white  hare, 
Beyont  the  lough-head  wait: 
And  when  I  spoke,        of,"  sayt  $lm, 
"7*0  wed  the  lad  who's  'tvaitin'  me 
And  matin' m   .   .  .   acrots  the  SeaP* 


io6 


THE  WIFE 

/^H,  Muther,  Muther,  sure  ye*U  ^iinf  the 

madness  av  it  all  I 
TeH  nund  I  had  no  thmile  for  him,  no  eye  for 
himstam 

Och,  Muther,  I  wtt  mad  wid  love  lor  ho^' 

KindreeTim; 
I'd  given  up  me  tobbin'  lipa  and  all  mft  heart 

to  him  I 

And  Shamus  was  a  dour  man ; 
And  och,  he  seemed  a  sour  man; 
"And  yon,"  aaya  I,  when  tnt  I  ^t  him  on  hit 
way  agaio, 

Wid  all  his  sad  and  padeat  e|ca  to  dooded  ^ 

wid  pain, 

"Faith,  yon's  a  cold  man» 

And  yon's  an  old  man. 
And  I'm  for  warrm  and  laughin*  ways,  and 
Pm  lorkmn'Tmir 

The  way  wid  life  and  lom*  iofo  fall  vvm 

learn  at  school ; 
k  seldom  goes  be  raison,  and  it  niyer  goes  be 

ndel 


107 


Irish  Poems 


'Twas  half  wid  pity,  Muther,  half  wid  piaoe 

at  •tnittin*  Tim, 
I  let  doar  Sharnna  apeak  the  word  that  bound 

me  19  wid  him. 
Widout  a  thrill  *r  raptare  and  widout  a  throb 

av  hope, 

1  took  him  for  me  wedded  mate— him,  solemn 

as  a  Pope, 

Ay,  him  widout  a  chune  or  laugh,  and  wid  his 
solemn  way; 

He  took  me  from  ye,  Muther,  and  o£F  across 
The  Bay,— 
And  och  the  bitther  tears 
And  the  thought  av  empty  years 
And  sobbin'  that  I'd  rather  die  than  face  an- 
other day! 

Tve  borne  him  childcr',  Muther,  and  I've  been 

an  honest  wife; 
We've  had  our  thrials  together,  faith,  our  ops 

and  downs  wid  life; 
IVe  minded  what  ye  tolt  me,  Muther,  kept  me 

throubles  still. 
And  bent  me  way  to  Shamus's  and  made  his 

wish  me  will--> 

But  here's  the  wonder  av  it  I  Muther,  Muther, 
tell  me  why 

108 


 Arthur  Stringer 

Tbi  midday  love  growt  ttroager  wImo  die 

mornin'  love  mutt  die, 
The  solemn  love  growt  dearer  when  die  fnad- 

der  love  goes  by? 
For  here  I'm  waitin'  like  a  gerrl  to  hear  me 

Shamus  call, 
Ay,  here  I'm  waidn*  for  die  man  who's  now 

me  all  in  all. 
And  when  I  see  htm  dironUed  tare  it  cnti  me 

like  a  knife — 

And  faith  it's  not  a  sad  world, 
And  sure  it's  not  a  mad  world, 
For  I  love  him,  Muther,  Mudier,  och,  I  love 

him  more  dian  life  I 


109 


tfitkPoms 


BARNEY  CREEGAN 

jLTERE'S  to  you,  Barney  Creegin, 

Where  iver  ye  may  be ; 
And  Hivin  knows  yeVe  thravelled 
Be  many  a  land  and  seal 

We've  et  and  drunk  together, 
We've  known  our  ups  and  downs, 

We've  seen  our  heap  av  throubles, 
And  weVe  worn  our  fadin'  crowns  I 

Ye'd  steal  u  kiss,  or  ham-bone, 

Ye'd  rob  a  grave  wid  joy; 
And  a  shirr'd  egg  stand's  the  only  thing 

Ye*d  mrer  poach,  me  boy  I 

Ye'  re  twmty  tii^  j  a  blag]rard; 

Your  T'orldly  goods  ye've  spent — 
But  rip  and  thief  and  ne'er-do-well, 

Ye  knew  what  Friendship  meant  I 

jind  if  ye  stick  to  me,  still, 

As  I  have  stuck  to  you, 
Fmth,  Barney  Creegan,  friends  we'll  be 

Until  the  shsmroe^s  blue! 


no 


